


Lost in Dreams and Other Places

by Truth



Category: Cantarella (manga)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Traykor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams and delusions and other exercises of power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Dreams and Other Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Traykor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traykor/gifts).



  


## Lost in Dreams and Other Places

  
Fandom: [Cantarella (manga)](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=Cantarella%20\(manga\))

  
Written for: Traykor in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge

by [Truth](http://yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=49/lostin)  


Power surrounded the court of Pope Alexander IV, hanging in the air so thickly that sometimes it was possible to imagine that it could actually be breathed. Not the most improbable of fantasies, as the heavy perfumes that also saturated the air gave credence to the thought.

This particular pope did not pretend to live the life of a monk, nor did he require such obedience from those under the protective umbrella of his rule. As a result, fine wines, rich fabrics, fabulous jewels and illicit sexual affairs were more the norm than the exception - however discreet.

In the private rooms of Cardinal Borgia, there was power enough to choke upon and Volpe found his lips twisting in sardonic amusement at the thought. The scent and pulse of that power clung to the younger man so thickly that it left an almost palpable trail in his wake. Even here, in his own home, he could feel it pressing against his skin like the hands of a lover.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the badly injured and heavily bandaged figure tucked into his own bed, and tried to view him dispassionately.

Unruly blonde hair partly controlled by the swathe of linen wrapped around his head, Chiaro was still beautiful. The hands lying slack against the coverlet were scarred and calloused, but they had an oddly graceful curve. Even unconscious, the man was attempting to hold a blade, and Volpe found his expression hardening.

Cesare had been like a man possessed when he had found out about Chiaro's arrest, but that had been nothing compared to his reaction when he had found that it had not been an arrest at all, but abduction. There had been true madness in the air, and a carelessness that had been frightening. In the many years that Volpe had watched over Cesare Borgia, he'd never seen anything like it. The various scrapes that the boy had fallen into while sheltering and protecting the young Lucrezia had sometimes been spectacular, but they'd never approached this sort of behavior.

When Chiaro had been discovered not to be breathing...?

Volpe found himself with a clenched jaw and forced himself to relax. He moved to stand over the silent, unmoving form on the bed, remembering the stutter of a restarted heart beneath his hands and the raw horror in Chiaro's voice as he'd tried to force himself upright, reaching after the vanished Cesare.

The entire scene had been heart-stopping, from the beaten and tortured body of the man now hidden in his own bed, lying silent and still in a pool of his own blood to the creature that had taken Cesare....

That familiar, sweetly smiling face twisting into a derisive sneer and the long, white wings that arched above Cesare's unresisting body as she drew him upward and away.... Volpe had seen them both clearly, the dead woman and Cesare, beautiful Cesare, with empty eyes as he'd allowed himself to be taken.

It wasn't jealousy that had Volpe staring so intently at the silent form stretched out in his bed. What he felt for Cesare was far beyond that sort of petty reaction. No. He would find what it was that held these two together and, if it remained beneficial, he would endure. If not?

Chiaro knew something, and it was torture of another sort to wait for him to wake.

The man on the bed did not toss or turn, unsurprising given the damage to his back, among other things. His hands stirred gently, however, fingers slowly curling and uncurling, his eyes moving behind closed lids. Volpe stood silently beside his bed, wondering what the killer was dreaming of and suspecting that he knew.

 _"I give you my life." His face had been so cold and serious then, Micholetto's mask dangling from his fingers, his other hand closed on the reins._

"I'm willing to give you _my life," from light and teasing to deadly serious and slipping into cold calculation._

"I am going to let you have what you wanted." So wild and lost and torn, dark eyes burning even as he relaxed, ready to die - wanting to be saved the only way he knew how.

Dark hair and dark eyes set in the face of an angel, a wild shifting of moods and a willfulness that overshadowed even his desperation, Cesare Borgia haunted Chiaro's restless dreams.

The careless hook of an arm around his neck, the warm weight of the younger man pressing against him as Cesare teased and mocked, the sudden press of lips and the lingering taste of wine and something heavier... sweeter.

Chiaro did not dream of silk and velvet, of illicit meetings and the slide of sweat-slick flesh. He dreamed instead of the cloud of darkness that Cesare wore, and the way it slid away from his touch, melting into nothingness and leaving the young Cardinal strangely vulnerable.

His lips moved and Volpe found himself leaning forward, attempting to catch the words. "I want... to protect him...."

Not exactly what Volpe had expected to hear, but he allowed himself a small smile of victory. Things would continue forward as they should. Without a backward glance, he quit the room. He would be expected to appear at the coronation ceremony in a few hours. With luck, his lies as to Cesare Borgia's absence would be believed.

Within Chiaro's dreams, however, dark shadows crawled across pale skin, causing his hands to slowly tighten into fists.

**

There was no sense of deja vu to the scene, despite the fact that Volpe was looking down at another young man lying unconscious in his bed. Cesare Borgia could never be compared to anyone else, at least in Volpe's eyes, and the sweet, dark power that surrounded him was both drugging and hypnotic.

With a spatter of blood still on his clothes and blood on his blade, the only blood that he could think of was that of Cesare - a blood that was a poison and yet....

If there was anything that he'd ever wanted more, he could no longer remember it. The dark tear in Cesare's skin was suddenly there beneath his hands and there was no reason not to touch, not to taste. No reason in the world.

And, as Cesare's eyes opened, no need. Volpe could no more resist the draw of dark, knowing eyes and the smooth, coaxing voice than he could the need to draw air.

Lost... and lost again.

**

Chiaro was gone and Cesare could not rest. He had his plans and his pawns still moved easily to his will, but the warmth and freedom that Chiaro brought him were fading with every hour that passed. It became harder to concentrate, harder to care about what he was reaching for.

What he was reaching for was Chiaro and every time he realized this, he had to start again, and again, and again.

Cesare's dreams were of cool clear water and the enveloping warmth that slowly, sweetly returned control of his body. There was a hunger that came with that returned control, hunger and a desperate _need_ that he fought as bitterly as he fought the demons. Cesare Borgia had no room for need and certainly no desire for it.

Desire he had in plenty, wrapped up in desperation and want, wound around and through bright hair. He dreamed of a hungry mouth that would return his own passion, of heat and sweat and the sweet loss of control that he could not allow himself with anyone else.

Chiaro was salvation... and Cesare found himself looking down at a hand that was slowly stiffening into a claw and bit back a grimace of pain.

Chiaro would return. Even the thought brought a slow smile to his lips as he woke. The smile did not fade despite the reality of long talons and warping bones. Only Chiaro saw the reality and, seeing it, held it at bay with his body. To the rest, the darkness that hung around him went unnoticed still, here in the court of the Pope, just another perfume that hung in the air after his passage. Chiaro would return and everything would go according to plan.

Chiaro was _his_ , and the world would follow.  


   
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